witness statement to the national police

By Adam Zhou

i read 
about how beggars
come running to the theatre
for the weekend features.
last time, 
a boy 
ate sixteen bullets.
the finale: 
shadows 
intertwining
with the spilled 
liquid.

seconds pass 
and i’m the only stranger 
who is left here.
i’m still waiting
for the applause.
the closing 
of the curtains.
what else 
but to pretend
i’ve lost 
the key 
to my house.

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